


Pieces of my Soul - Dick and Dami Week 2019

by Elie



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: (not) dealing with racism, Angst, Batfamily Feels, Don't copy to another site, Drugs, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd to the rescue!!, all of these are standalones, all the angst!!, also generally everyone is sad, bruce tries but honestly, continuity what continuity?? honestly i know too little about current comics, dealing with death, dick and damian being angsty bros, do I need to say more, just platonic stuff!, no beta so im sorry for that, one shots more like drabbles but im proud of them anyway!, ric grayson makes and apperance :----), will add more as the week goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-01 06:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18330485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elie/pseuds/Elie
Summary: Day One/April 8th: Dynamic Duo - Damian has doubts, and misses what once was. (Or in which Damian observes Bruce and Dick fighting, again)Day Two/April 9th: Paparazzi - Dick is dead, and the goddamn paparazzi won't give Damian any room to breath.Day Three/April 10th: Fear gas - Damian freezes up when something happens to Dick on a mission and he doesn't know how to deal with it.Day Four/April 11th: Music - Far far away, he hears words. Words that sound familiar, by a voice he knows, but he can’t understand them. They are melodic, going in ups and downs, by a light but raspy voice. (alt: “So how long am I benched?” Damian asks when the silence becomes too much.)Day Six/April 13th: Rain - A memory Damian thought was long forgotten emerges, of a time when everything was alright and he still had Grayson with him.Day Seven/April 14th: Separation - Damian watches over Grays-, err, Ric.





	1. Day One/April 8th: Dynamic Duo

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Haven't written fics in forever (last i posted something here it was freaking 2016!), and here I am in a new completely different fandom!
> 
> This one (dynamic duo) actually came easiest. I'm afraid I did something weird with the time, but I think I fixed it? Its set sometime after Bruce came back from "the dead" that one time he was lost in a time stream, and Dick has gone back to being Nightwing. Once again I have no beta, this is the first I've written in forever, so I'm sorry for any bad grammar.

Damian have no problem admitting to himself that he cares for his father, a great deal. Even loves him, not that he would ever admit that to the man. He has some pride left, some pitiful excuse of dignity, even after all the fluff Grayson has put him through. Father knows anyway, he assumes. He has to have some sort of inkling that Damian, his unruly son, does actually care. 

Father.. he tries. He has his tendencies and very own way of thinking, but still - he tries. Damian can’t deny that, can't hold that against the man. Still he is not always easy to be around, to work with, perhaps especially when its father and son. 

Then there is Grayson, he is something entirely different. How people, people who know both Dick and Bruce, can get themselves to say that they are so alike - they must not know Dick at all. Then again Dick is a great actor, having practiced his whole life. Grayson is amazing at setting himself into a situation, and figuring out the role he needs to play. It’s scary how quickly he reads a situation and completely alters his own mood, his own role in it, in a matter of seconds. 

In some ways, Damian figures the real Batman will always be Richard Grayson in his eyes. Even as he swings from rooftop to rooftop with his father by his side every night, he sometimes catches himself wishing it was Grayson under that cowl. That it was he and Grayson fighting criminals together, huddling together for warmth on particularly cold stake outs (something father never allows). He wishes it was Grayson trusting him with more than Damian ever thought someone could be trusted with, let alone him. 

He can’t tell Grayson that, no, never. It was quite obvious how much it hurt Richard, having to wear the cowl and step into the role of the dark knight. The embodiment of everything Grayson did not want to become being forced upon him, and even if his older brother honourably tried to hide it - Damian knew Richard had hated every second in the suit, playing the role of the world’s greatest detective not because he wanted to but because he had to. 

Damian knows his father is capable in almost every way, a great hero, one of the best there is, and yet, Damian sometimes finds himself longing for what once was. It is horrible of him, really. Father had been gone, presumed dead. Damian had mourned for what he thought would never be, Dick had mourned for yet another father lost, Alfred had mourned a man he viewed as his own son. Their whole family had suffered massively those months, and yet Damian has caught himself wishing for some of those moments back. That he could have some of all that was bad again, just so he could relive the good too. He knows he can never voice this, not to anyone. 

It is selfish, he knows that, he has never been one to lie to himself. Grayson is still a big part of his life and Damian knows he should be thankful. He has father, Grayson, Alfred, Titus.. he has so much. It is more than he ever thought he would have before his mother brought him to the other side of the world and left him at the doorstep of a man he didn't even know. Even so, when Grayson gave father back the cowl, Damian couldn’t help feeling that Grayson was in some ways giving him back to his father too. It was almost like Grayson's shift as the babysitter was now over, and that it was Bruce’s time to take care of him. How long until father grows bored of him and his unruliness? How long until his patience runs thin, for real? 

“You need to try harder, Bruce,” Grayson says, bringing Damian out of his own head and breaking his train of thought. They don’t know that Damian is spying on them from the top of the ridiculous dinosaur in the cave, or maybe they know, and can’t be bothered to try stopping him. He wouldn't put it past them, both Grayson and his father have a habit of disappearing into their anger more often than not when together. It is one of their few similarities, that and black hair. Damian knew that Grayson’s relationship with father had been.. complicated, at best, but he had never really understood the reality of it before seeing it with his own two eyes after father came back into their lives. It was quite terrifying at times, and heartbreaking at other ones.

“Damian.. he needs rules and stability, but he also needs patience. He needs time to understand, to feel understood, he needs to feel that there is room for him to be himself too. Not just Robin, not just your son, not just whatever mold you are trying to force him to fit into!” Grayson continues. His voice is at a decent, normal level, but anyone who knows Richard knows that it is not his regular carefree voice. It is dripping with something Damian can’t pinpoint, and far from cheery and bright. It is heavy with life experiences and feelings Grayson usually keeps hidden deep under his skin. It is saying quite a lot about Grayson's current state of mind, that those hidden emotions are forcing their way through now. Perhaps that is just the effect father has on his children. 

“Dick, he’s my son. Do you think I do not know what’s best for him? I applaud the.. work, you two did, in my absence, but he is still my son,” Bruce replies, sounding more tired than anything else. More detached, like it is not his son sounding few seconds from crying standing in front of him speaking. Like it’s all a meaningless discussion to him, that Richard is just being difficult - a child screaming for his attention and Bruce refusing to give it. 

Absence, that's a funny word for being presumed dead and gone. A funny word for leaving your family to fall to pieces, for hanging the weight of the world and heavier than that, the cowl, on the shoulders of your eldest son. The one son who had never even wanted it. While saying those words, Bruce sounded more like Batman than ever before. The line between the two blurring even more than it already has in Damian's eyes, maybe in Dick's too, judging by the way he reacts.

Even from up on top of the dinosaur Damian can see Grayson’s whole demeanour change. His whole body stiffens in a different way, looking more resigned and broken than anything else. It surprises him, he has to admit, when instead of the expected volcanic-level burst of anger Dick just gives Bruce what Damian can only assume is an ice cold glare. The older then turns on his heel, in a harsh movement unlike Richards usually graceful and smooth ones, and stalks over to the cave entrance without another word. 

Seconds later the roar of Richard’s motorbike echoes through the cave and Dick is speeding away. Away from the manor, from Gotham, probably from Nightwing and Robin’s promised “for old times sake” patrol together tomorrow. Hell, Damian doubts he will see the man in quite awhile, Grayson has quite the temper and will need some time to calm down. He will most likely be spending his time hauled up in his Blüdhaven apartment and taking his anger out on criminals at night, it is the bat way to deal with feelings after all. His father will for sure not do anything to help either, possibly doing something that makes their relationship worsen even more. It is almost like that is one of Batman’s impeccable skills - combat, solving crime mysteries and last but not least ruining familial relationships.

As Damian climbs down the dinosaur he can feel that there is something wet on his face. He insists to himself that it is not tears. He is supposed to know better. If it was one thing his mother taught him before leaving him to fend for himself in a completely different world, it was not to get attached and that display of emotions was for the weak. He is not to cry, Al Ghul's do not cry, he doubts Waynes do either. 

With familiar movements he makes his way down towards to the floor, movements more rushed than usual but still he never slips once. He has climbed up and down the back of the stupid T-Rex multiple times with Grayson by his side after all. 

Bruce has slumped down in the black leather chair in front of the computer as Damian climbs the last meters. Damian can only see the top of the man's head from his position. The black hair is rich and full, but a hint of grey is revealing of the fact that even the bat grows old. Damian jumps down the last meters, the sound of his feet on the hard floor signalling his presence in the cave if father didn’t know before. Judging by how there is not a single movement, not even a little twitch father did know. Of course he did, he is the Batman after all. It was foolish to think otherwise. Neither of them say anything though, both pretending the other isn’t there. They will most likely have words later, about privacy and sneaking around in the cave when one is not supposed to be there. Yet now the silence feels more suffocating than anything, and Damian doesn’t want to stay in the cave a second longer.

As he climbs the stone staircase up to the manor, he is late for Titus walk he realises, Damian accepts that maybe some dynamic duos aren’t meant to last. He knows that his and father’s for sure won't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a tumblr letgraysonsheart.tumblr.com if you wanna come yell with me about batfam :-) I really appreciate kudos & comments!


	2. Day Two/April 9th: Paparazzi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is dead, and the goddamn paparazzi won't give Damian any room to breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I throw canon out the window, and dick is dead, good times, (dicks death is pretty much AU, i haven't really imagined it as any of his canon deaths?? not any of those i know of at least) also sorry its so short but apparently thats the only length i know how to write if im not gonna go completely off the hinges and write thousand chapters and never finish

Grayson is gone, but that doesn’t mean the paparazzi act anymore respectful towards any of them.

Damian understands that the paparazzi is something he can not avoid in this life of his. His father is the man he is, rich and famous and all that jazz. There is really nothing they can do with that, not without ruining the rest of their lives - not that their lives aren’t ruined already. It's been a hard week. 

He has long ago accepted that the animal like paparazzi are going to follow him, no matter how much he tries to yell, or how he moves to ruin their pictures. No matter how much he utters his wishes for them to leave him alone they never do. Not even when tries to ask them to just please, please, for the love of all things good to leave him alone. It is like everything he says falls on deaf ears, like they refuse to hear his pleas. In some ways, they remind him of the people who trained him in the league. They didn’t listen to his wishes either, not even when he was on his knees pleading for just a bit of pitiful mercy.

Even so he tries, again, hoping this time they will hear in his words and his voice how desperate he is. That this time will be the one where they realise that what they are doing hurts, that their questions are like razor sharp knives to his skin. The paparazzi only looks at him with their fake sympathetic eyes, their faces falling into perfectly sculpted and practiced expressions. They still don’t let up, doesn’t grant him some space and some air. It actually feels like they move even closer, now that he has engaged with them. Rookie mistake on his part, he should know better by now. 

The paparazzi are there no matter what, anywhere he goes, maybe the only constant thing in his life now. If there is one thing in his life he can count on, it is nosy journalists showing up when he least wants them to. Not even father can get the paparazzi to stay away, not even as his voice slips dangerously close to Batman-level. It is definitely a lost cause.

Still, do they have to be so utterly careless about their feelings? They, Damian’s family, is after all the ones the paparazzi is making their money off. They are like parasites, feeding on their pain, gaining strength from their weakness. 

They have barely put Richard in the ground. A place where Damian never actually believed he would have to see his brother lowered to, not in this lifetime. The vulture-like men and women have been surprisingly quiet for all of two days, but now - here they are, stronger than ever. Vultures with cameras for eyes. 

Father is walking in front of him, his figure big, dark and looming. There is security on both their sides, making a small pathway for them so they can get to their car. Even without the cape and cowl, there is something so incredibly Batman about how father is holding himself. He is wearing a mask, even if there is no cape and cowl in sight. Really, it is surprising no one else has made the connections between the man who is his father and the bat. 

“Mr. Wayne, is it true that your son’s death was self-inflicted?” some random man from some equally unimportant paper yells. 

Damian concentrates on the spot right in between his father’s shoulder blades to stop himself from yelling something crude to the journalists, staring as if with laser eyes at the seam on his father’s jacket. He doesn’t want to put a stain on Richard’s memory so soon. He can see how fathers hands clench, how they have gone completely white by his sides. Damian assumes he too is thinking about Richard, and how the journalists will slander the man in the news recently deceased or not, if they are to say something wrong in the earshot of a camera. They show no mercy. 

He curses their need to cover Dick’s civilian's death by being vague, because it leaves so much to speculation. The media wasted no time, they grabbed their chance and ran with their vile ideas and horrible fantasies, covering every newspaper and the internet with their conspiracy theories. 

Damian understands that they can’t explain that Dick died saving civilian lives, that he died as Nightwing, a former Robin, a hero. That would in no doubt lead the journalists down the slippery slope of finding out Bruce Wayne is in fact Batman. That would not only ruin everything for Batman, but would also drag the rest of them with him down the drain. It would ruin all the hard work they have done for so long trying to conceal their identities. 

Still, Richard deserves better after all he did for Gotham and Blüdhaven, for the whole world.

Damian wishes Todd was there to beat the idiots up. Jason could probably get in a few good swings before father would pull him off, rage fuelling him like gasoline fuels a car. Todd would for sure have the nerve to do it too, he would not be a coward like Damian - constricted by thinking too much and then not acting. Damn Jason and his status as deceased, giving him an out of not having to be seen in public with the family. It would be nice to at least have one alley beside him while he slowly feels his grip on his inner rage slip. An alley that would understand. 

Speaking about Jason - “Can you give a comment as to why this is the second son you’ve buried?” a new voice chime in. Yelling louder than the others. Forcing their words to be heard. Damian tastes blood in his mouth after how hard he has bitten down on the inside of his cheek. It seems it will never stop surprising him how low those imbeciles are willing to go, just to get a reaction. Why? How is father supposed to answer that? Is there even an answer to that?

How far can the walk to the car possibly be? How long until they can speed away from the vultures circling them as sickly prey?

“Would you say Mr. Grayson fell into the habits of his kind?” 

It feels like someone has punched a hole into Damian’s gut and twisted a knife around. He can see father clench his hands even harder, something Damian didn’t think was physically possible. He will in no doubt have red marks on the inside of his palms from nails digging into skin. Damian just feels sick. 

Damian breaths, and tries to use the methods Dick taught him so so long ago to calm himself down. He feels the rage simmer inside him. He does not want to have a public displayed meltdown. Especially not one in front of his own father, and certainly not in front of all these disrespectful paparazzi. His own face, red from tears and scrunched up in that ugly way it only is when he cries for real, is not something he wishes to see plastered on the front page of the Gotham Gazette tomorrow.

He barely restrains himself from punching any of the journalists, if their work can even be called journalism. They should feel lucky, not knowing the pain he imagines inflicting upon them in his head. One look at father tells him that paparazzi are lucky they haven't brought the wrath of something worse than Batman on them - the one of a grieving father.

That doesn’t mean Damian manages to restrain himself once they get home. The whole car-ride he feels like a fueling ball of rage, on the brink of going nuclear. Neither he nor father says anything, and Damian doesn’t comment on it when father pushes the car over the speed limit. They both just want to get home, even if the one person who made it really feel like home won't be there anymore. Won't be there ever again. 

The wall in the hallway gets quite the dent in it when his sneaker-clad foot connects with it, and damn his toe hurts. He will be have to acquire an ice pack from Pennyworth. 

Tears spring into his eyes before he knows it and his face crunches up and fathers hand is on his shoulder, and if Damian falls a bit apart right then and there, well, there are no journalists to witness it, so who cares?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i really do appreciate kudos and comments!


	3. Day Three/April 10th: Fear gas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian freezes up when something happens to Dick on a mission and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: once again im here with the angst train! action, even like this, is really not my strong point, but i hope this turned out well anyway!

It’s supposed to be an easy mission, swoop in, take care of the bad guys, help the hostages. It is nothing they haven’t done a thousand times before. They have a plan, a good one too. There isn't even any last-resort contingency plans, it is that straight forward. They have scouted Scarecrows warehouse for days. They have noted his habits, overheard plans - they know what to do. And yet - everything goes to absolute shit. Damian shouldn’t be surprised, considering his family's ability to mess things up.

The first part goes just as planned. They had without a noise dropped into warehouse from the roof, gone down the rafters, and emerged for the dark. Scarecrow hadn’t suspected the attack, hadn’t seen their on their many visits to the nearby rooftops. The chaos that ensued had been foreseen by Damian and Dick. They had used it to their advantage, just like Bruce had taught them. They had fought swift and hard, with rehearsed moves only capable by two people who know each others fighting style in and out.

Damian is helping some of the victims out of the warehouse, kidnapped by Scarecrows men to use as lab rats for a new brand of fear-gas, when the yelling inside gets louder than it should.

Nightwing is the only one inside with the apprehended criminals, he’d told Damian he would be out in a sec. He was just rounding up the last of the evidence, and making sure everything was alright for when the GCPD got there. Sometimes Damian wonders if they make it too easy for the police. If they have made the Gotham police-men and woman too dependent on the city's vigilantes. Well, it is too late to do anything about that now.

It had been easy, perhaps too easy, apprehending Scarecrow and his henchmen, Damian thinks as he leaves the victims with a strict “stay here!” and runs back towards the warehouse. He can hear sirens, called in by Dick as soon as they deemed the battle over. Judging by the sound they seem to be only a few blocks down, they aren’t exactly known for being quick on crime scenes.

As he sprints through the big double doors, he hears Scarecrows laughter. The villain is leant against a column, exactly like when Damian had left to escort the hostages to safety. The man is tied to the column with a rope around his upper body with no means to escape. But what catches Damians eyes less than a second later is the used syringe in his hand. There is but a drop of green substance left inside of the vial. How could they have missed the syringe when they searched and tied him up? And why hadn't they used freaking handcuffs? That’s a huge mistake. Batman will in no doubt be having words with them about it.

From Scarecrow, to the hand with the syringe, his eyes falls on Nightwing. Grayson is on the floor facedown, withering on the ground as in pure agony. He is barely making any sound besides pathetic whimpers. Damian is by his brothers side in seconds. He kicks the syringe out of Scarecrows hand on his way, and is careful not to put his back to the villain as he crouches down beside Grayson.

“N, what’s going on? What hurts?” he asks, his voice sounding frantic, as he turns his brother on his back. Dick’s face scrunches up under the domino-mask, but he gives no answer. There is a small drop of blood on his arm where the syringe must have gone in. Damian carefully brushes a gloved finger over it, his brothers blood sticking to the material of it. The sirens are close, too close. They need to get out of here. It will be a hassle if they are still there when Gotham’s finest arrives.

“Can you stand?” Damian asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer before hauling Dick up on his feet. His brother sways, his knees looking about ready to buckle , as he places a shaking arm over Damians shoulders. Damian wastes no time, even if he has to all but drag his brother through the back door. Once outside he uses his grapnel gun and, painstakingly slow, manages to get them upwards and away from the warehouse. For once, he is thankful for Drake’s mind, and how he's made the grapnels stronger and able to carry more weight. The GCPD have already breached the warehouse’ doors as Damian hauls the both of them over the edge of a nearby rooftop.

Dick has grown very silent, shaking in Damian’s hands as he helps his brother sit down. There is sweat on both their foreheads. Damian rips his brothers domino mask off, leaving the area around Nightwings eyes red and irritated. Damian doesn’t have time to care about that. He needs to know how bad the toxic substance is affecting Nightwing. They have little to none experience with direct injection of the stuff - it is usually in gas form.

Dick’s pupils look blown wide, and they are darting around in a panicked motion.

Damian curses under his breath and tabs the com in his ears twice,

“Robin, is everything quite well?” Alfred’s voice fills his ears, his calm demeanor not hiding the older man’s worry. Damian is usually not one of calling the cave while out on patrol, or at all, really. Not showing weakness, and all that. He can do fine on his own.

“I need an evac by the warehouse, Nightwing’s down. He’s gotten injected with what I assume is some kind of fear gas in liquid form,” Damian hates how his voice shakes as he explains the situation.

“Batman and Red Robin are on their way,” Alfred answers, “Try to keep Nightwing as calm as possible. If this is a new version of the drug, there is no saying how severe the effects will be. It is impossible to say how he will react,” Alfred continues before adding “He may get violent.” 

Damian doesn’t answer, and Alfred switches off with a single beep, most likely to inform Batman further on the situation. Damian can't imagine what he would do if Grayson attacked him, not in this state.

Below him, Dick has started thrashing as if he is trying to get away from something. He is whimpering something under his breath, words Damian doesn't manage to pick up. Damian sits down on his knees beside him, putting his arms on Graysons shoulder to hold him down. It is weird and uncomfortable, to see his usually strong brother reduced to this blubbering mess.

Putting his hands on Grayson is a huge mistake. Nightwing goes rabid, thrashing harder then before and looking absolutley terrified. Grayson is yelling, more incoherent words Damian doesn’t understand. They sound terrified, like Richard is in a great deal of pain. It takes more of his power than Damian wants to admit to get his brother to lay down, and then continuing to hold him there. He has to lean all his weight over him.

“P-please let me go!” Nightwing screams so loud it hurts Damian’s hears. Damian prays the GCPD doesn’t hear it over the roccus in the warehouse. The police joining them up on the roof is the last thing he needs today.

Where the hell is Batman and Red Robin?! Damian doesn’t want to, can’t, deal with this alone, because Grayson is crying. Honest, big tears rolling down his red cheeks and he is out of his mind with fear. The older seems to have no knowledge of where he is or what is going. The drug works fast, and it looks like it has fulfilled its purpose. If this drug were to get out on the streets, into the hands of people looking for a thrill, unknowing they are mere experiments of Scarecrow.. Damian shudders with the thought.

Grayson manages to roll out of Damian’s grip. His breath is hitching into hyperventilation and his whole body shaking like a leaf. Damian reaches out to grab him again when -

“Jeez, what the hell happened to you two?” a new voice says from behind them. Damian curses himself and swirls around to face the newcomer. He had been so focused on Grayson, so worried, lost in his own head, that he hadn’t noticed the other presence on the roof. He tries to ignore how behind him Grayson, always so strong and so good at putting on a brave face, is reduced to a ball of anxiety and fear.

Thankfully, it’s only Jason, in full Red Hood gear-up with his arms crossed over his chest staring at them with the helmets visor-eyes.

“Bad case of feargas inhalation?” Jason asks as he moves closer to the both of them, his steps light and oddly careful for the big man.

“No, or yes - kind of,” Damian fumbles with words and that is something he never ever does. His hands are shaking and damn it, he’s supposed to be calm and level-headed and Grayson needs him and -

“Hey, kid, relax, tell me what happened,” Jason, Red Hood, commands, even if his voice still has a hint of softness in it. He’s standing right in front of Damian now, but the helmet betrays that he is looking at the mess that is Dick Grayson behind them.

Damian takes a deep breath, forces his heartbeat to slow down and his thoughts to clear. Reports, commands, that is something he knows, that is something he can do. He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold Gotham air fill his lungs, before he starts explaining.

“We were taking down Scarecrow - actually we had finished up. I was helping some of the victims out of the warehouse, Dick was doing the last round up of evidence, when I heard yelling. I ran back into the warehouse - I see Scarecrow with an empty syringe and well,” Damian turns around and gestures at Dick. “I found Nightwing like this. I'm pretty sure he got injected with some fear-gas in liquid form,” he finishes.

“A strong kind too, judging by Nightwing's reaction and how quickly it worked,” he adds as a second thought.

Jason nods. Damian stares at the mans red helmet, he always has trouble reading him with his face covered like that. He has no idea what Jason is feeling, or if he is planning on staying to help. He’s been nice lately, better at being with the family. Damian knows both Bruce and Dick have been more happy than they would ever dare to say out loud about it.

Damian forces himself to look at Dick again. His brothers breathing is fast and he is already looking to pale as a consequence of it. His arms clenches around his knees that drawn up to his chest so hard his knuckles turns white. Damian feels glued to the spot, only able to watch his brother fall apart. He.. he doesn’t know what to do.

“What are your injuries, did you get hit with it too?” Red Hood asks, in what is his best Batman imitation. If the situation was different Damian would in no doubt be making fun of him for it. Now though, the words die in his throat.

“You gotta work with me here, brat, did you get hit too?” Jason asks, his voice more alarmed now, more stern, his body more rigid as he towers over Damian.

“No, I.. I don’t think so,” Damian mutters but still - it feels like something is wrong. He has been in countless awful situations before,. He has seen people affected by fear-gas, but there is just.. something about seeing Grayson, his first Batman, so broken that terrifies him, fear-inducing drugs or not.

Jason huffs, but doesn’t try to pry out anymore and instead moves towards Dick, steps filled with caution. He is staying to help then, Damian can’t help but be thankful as he trails behind. He feels more awkward and misplaced then he has in a long time. He wants to help Grayson, with every fiber of his very being, but this? This isn’t some wound to he can press down upon. Not a laceration with bleeding that has to be stopped. This Damian doesn’t know how to deal with. Not when it is his big brother, his first Batman, the strongest person he knows.

“Hey, Dickiebird, you need to calm down or your gonna make yourself pass out,” Jason says as he slowly crouches down in a squat beside their older brother. He moves to put his hands on Dick’s shoulder, to touch him, and Damian remembers -

“Don’t!” he yells, Jason freezes, hands hovering in the air. Dick flinches too and Damian feels bad but - “He panicked, when I touched him before you got here. I tried to calm him down, hold him, but that just made him trash. That’s when he went into full blown panic,” Damian rushes to explain. Jason nods, like he understands. Damian feels fear, masquerading as rage, fill his chest because he doesn’t understand anything. Grayson is the most touchy-feely of all the bats. Damian trying to comfort him should not make things worse.

“I - please, I don’t wanna die,” Grayson pleads, and Damians heart hurts for his brother. He wants to comfort him, but his mouth can’t seem to find the right words, his training isn’t kicking in like it should.

“Hey, Dickhard, you’re not going to die, you’ve just been drugged,” Jason says with a steady voice. Damian can see him trying to get eye-contact with Richard. Damian is unsure if he succeeds or not. Jason is still wearing his helmet and Grayson doesn't appear to exactly be with them.

“P-please get me out of this,” Dick whispers, voice cracking and eyes shining from unshed tears.

“Dick, Bruce is on his way, we’re gonna get you home and find an antidote. You’re going to be right as rain in no time,” Jason continues comforting Dick. His voice is unusually soft. Jason is using his special voice for victims of horrible crimes, the one he only uses when he thinks no one else is listening in. The special soft side of Jason Todd, saved only for life and death circumstances. That does not help calm Damian down, as he stands completely rooted to his spot a few steps away from his two older brothers.

“No, No - Bruce, you.. you gotta get out, can’t-” Dick voice hitches, and Damian has to look away because he can’t take this, he is not prepared for this. Damian realising that something has happened that never has done before; he has frozen in the field, and he can't force himself to move.

“I can’t take you with me, Bruce,” Dick continues to cry. Damian can’t see Jason’s face, doesn’t see his reaction to being called Bruce, but Damian doubts it’s any good. Where the hell is their father anyway? Grayson needed him to be there minutes ago!

“No one is going anywhere, okay? You gotta-, crap, you gotta breath, man,” Jason soothes and Damian forces himself to look at the two. Dick is hyperventilating again, arms still cradled around his torso, one hand resting over his heart. He doesn’t look like he is able to say anything more, even if he wants too. Jason’s hands are hovering slightly above Dick’s shoulders. Damian’s warning is probably fighting in his mind over the instinct to touch, to hug Dick, because that usually always works. It's supposed to be the remedy of everything considering the black and blue clad man.

Dick’s lips are turning blue, his eyes are wide open and wild, seeing horrors Damian can’t imagine.

“Try to-, hey, what about counting, that helps right? Come on, lets try counting - just focus, 1.., breathe in now,” Jason’s voice is turning more panicked by the second. Dick isn’t listening to him, isn’t breathing in on the count of one, not holding for two and breathing out at three.

“Richard! You stubborn- you need to fucking breath man!” Jason is yelling and this time Damian flinches too at the same times as Dick. What happens next makes Damian's heart feel like it is bursting out of his chest. He can only watch as Dick flinches, his eyes rolls up in his head showing only the whites, and goes completely limp. It is terrifying. He has seen his brother passed out many times, it is a given in their line of work, but never like this. 

If it weren’t for Jason sitting by his, Dick would have fallen from his crunched up position straight into the hard concret of the roof. Instead, Jason’s arms are quick to catch their falling brother. Even if his moves are clumsy and awkward, he manages to safely gather the older in his arms.

“Is, Is he-” Damian can’t make himself ask, he feels like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack himself.

“No,” Jaso snaps, finally turning to look at Damian, “I think he just passed out from all the hyperventilation.”

Damian knows Jason tries to sound sure of himself, like everything will be alright, but Damian knows the man enough to pick out the doubt in his voice. He can’t stop his brain from thinking about all the what ifs. He is not prepared to lose anyone else. 

“Will you get over here and help me keep him stable?” Jason hisses. His helmet is off now, laying beside him, and he is sporting some serious helmet-hair, it is sticking out to every angle. Damian doesn't know when he took it off, too captured by his own thoughts.

“Today, would be good!” Jason yells.

It shocks Damian into moving again, his legs heavy as logs as he moves to sit down beside his unconscious older brother. He can already feel the embarrassment for how he for the last minutes have stood frozen, acted like nothing else but a scared child, creep up his neck. His face feels warm, it’s most likely red too, and not only from the stressing situation.

Together they lay Dick completely horizontal, he is completely out of it, not making a sound. Jason has taken his own jacket off, and balled it up as good as he can to make a makeshift pillow. Damian holds Richard’s head up as Jason slides it under.

Damian puts his hand over Dick’s wrist, feels the pulse, “it’s too fast,” he comments. He meets Jason’s gaze, the older is biting his lip.

“It must be the toxin. Being scared to death does that to you-” Jason says, and then adds “-Not that, that he is going to die, you know, Dick is strong. It’s a figure of speech,” when he sees what probably is Damian’s very very alarmed face. The words come out jumbled and rushed, telling him that Jason feels ruffled by the situation too. Damian isn’t ready to lose Grayson, not again, not because of some stupid mistake.

There is a slight woosh of air, the sound of fabric over stone and - “Oh god, is he alright?” Tim squeaks. Damian turns, and sees both Drake and father making their way over, their steps quick. Judging by the thin line fathers mouth is forced into, he isn’t happy.

“What happened?” father asks, as he crouches down in a similar position as Damian. He takes his gauntlets off and throws them to the side. His big hands clasps around Dick’s wrist, much like Damian did earlier, feeling for Richard's pulse.

Jason is looking at Damian. When it comes apparent to him that Damian isn't going to answer, isn’t going to tell Batman how he completely froze up, panicked, didn’t do anything at all to help Grayson - he huffs.

“The drug’s strong alright, my guess as to why he passed out is that he, well, hyperventilated himself out,” Jason says. He then shrugs, trying to come off as nonchalant now that Bruce is here to take over the situation. Jason seems to be relieved Batman has arrived to relieve him of being the only responsible adult present. Not that he would ever admit that.

Bruce has somehow conjured a flashlight from his utility belt. He reaches over and forces one of Dick’s eyes open with two fingers, shining into it with the flashlight in his other hand. He then does the same for the other eye. He doesn't comment about what he sees, which Damian tells himself has to be a good sign.

“Kept yelling about dying, and uhm -” Jason voice trails off. Damian bets fathers eyebrows are raised behind the cowl.

“And what?” he growls.

“He kept, talking about you, about not taking you with him?” he phrases it more like a question. Jason doesn’t understand Graysons rambling either, but Batman nods like he does. Though true to his Batman-self, father doesn’t give any comment as to why Dick would be having such drug-induced hallucinations.

“We have to get him to the cave, we have to study his bloodwork to find an antidote. It’s too risky using the ones we have pre-made for the gas. We don't know how it will work on injections,” Tim says, breaking the silence that has fallen over the four bats.

“The quicker the better, we can’t be sure of the consequences of the drug, we don’t know the long time effects..” Tim’s voice trails off. 

Father is already scooping Dick up in his arms, they all pretend to not notice how his knees seems to pop quite audibly. Richard may be on the short side, but he is still pounds of muscle and father isn’t getting any younger.

“There is a door that leads to a staircase right over there, if we’re lucky the building may even have an elevator,” Tim says. He doesn't look up from the schematics brought up on his holo-computer that he wears on his wrist. He points towards the single door on the roof.

Father, with Dick securely in his arms, is already moving for the door. Tim walks a few steps ahead. Grayson’s head is hanging over fathers armour-clad arm, lolling with Batman’ steps. His face is completely slack, and his mouth slightly open. Both Damian and Jason fall back to walk behind them.

“It’s okay to get scared,” Jason says out of the blue. Damian keeps his eyes on the floor. From the corner of his right eye he can see that Jason isn’t looking at him either. He has put the helmet back on again now, and is looking straight ahead. Damian prays father can’t hear him, but Damian is usually never that lucky.

“It’s still dangerous to freeze up like that though,” Jason continues. Damian opens his mouth to argue that he did not freeze, even though he did when, but before he has the chance Jason speaks again. “You were lucky I was nearby and Alfred notified me. What if the drug made Dick try to hurt you?”

Damian doesn’t have an answer to that. Jason falls quiet for a few seconds, like he is contemplating something.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Both Dick and I know from experience that nothing good comes out of that. You’re still just a kid. Considering everything, this wasn’t the worst mission to freak out on,” he finally says after too many seconds of uncomfortable silence. 

“Todd, I am not a child-” Damian starts, but without looking at him Jason lifts a hand, stopping him. The degrading gesture makes rage spark up in Damian again. They are following father and Tim down the stairs now. There wasn’t any elevator, not to anyone surprise, it seems to be an old building they have landed themself on. Father is grunting now and again from the strain as he carries Grayson, who is still out cold, down the multitude of stairs.

“Yes, you are, brat. Just shut up. I’m not gonna say anything more on the matter, or anything like this ever again. I'm only saying it because Dickhead would kill me if he realises I let you go home with the bat without talking to ya. We all mess up sometimes,” Jason finishes. Before Damian can respond, a poisonous remark already on his tongue, Jason picks up his pace. The older is almost racing down the stairs to catch up with the two other bats.

Damian continues to trail behind. He has already done enough damage, and he is for sure not up for another lecture, not from any of his family. All he wants is to go home, grab Titus and lay under his bed covers.

If he could, he would go out looking for the last of Scarecrows men who wasn't at the warehouse, but he knows father will never allow it. It would be foolish to stir up even more roccus now by sneaking away.

Besides, he wants to be by Richard’s side when he wakes up. He at least owes him that much, after the enormous failure that tonight has been. He needs Grayson to know that he is there for him. That he isn't the emotionally stunted child everyone else assumes he is. That he is not a coward that freezes in the sight of trauma.

He vows himself that it will never happen again, he's supposed to have full control of his emotions . He is an Al Ghul after all, no matter what father says. If there is one thing his mother taught him those years he stayed with her, it was to keep his emotions in check. Today he failed miserably. It could have been disastrous. He has no room for failure, and failure certainly doesn't earn him any respect with his family. He already has enough trouble fitting in, without messing up like he did today.

The mistake almost cost him Grayson, and that is a price Damian never could live with paying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always kudos and comments are appreciated!
> 
> I imagine this is sometime after Dick came back from pretending to be dead, and hes talking about his experience with being in the death machine


	4. Day Four/April 11th: Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Far far away, he hears words. Words that sound familiar, by a voice he knows, but he can’t understand them. They are melodic, going in ups and downs, by a light but raspy voice. 
> 
> Someone is singing. 
> 
> (alt: “So how long am I benched?” Damian asks when the silence becomes too much.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, but angsty 
> 
> (i imagine the song dick is singing is one his mother used to sing to him when he was younger, both to calm him down if he got hurt and when he was going to bed, its totally a lullaby)

Damian isn’t awake, yet he isn’t completely asleep either. There is something that reminds him of a warm and soft blanket covering him, shielding him from well.. everything. He feels no pain, no hurt - neither physically or mentally. His eyes are closed, they have to be, it’s so dark but it isn't scary at all. It's comfortable. 

There’s a familiar tingling in his fingers and - oh. He’s on pain medication, the more hard stuff Alfred only uses when someone really really needs it. He’s only gotten it a few times before, that’s the only reasons he recognises it. Usually he is pretty good at avoiding injuries so severe, that's more Jason and Dick’s department. It should alarm him more than it does, that he is on them now. It is just so nice, to not have to feel anything. To not care about anything at all. It is a sweet relief from what he usually knows. 

He is kind of sad when the fog for real starts to lift. Can't he enjoy this peace for a little while? Have he not earned this small break lasting a little longer? 

Far far away, he hears words. Words that sound familiar, by a voice he knows, but he can’t understand them. They are melodic, going in ups and downs, by a light but raspy voice. 

Someone is singing. 

It takes him longer than he is willing to admit to realise that it is Grayson singing. He hasn't heard the older sing much before, mumbles under his breath yes, and sometimes some awful pop songs while in the shower. Never before in this raw and honest way though. That is entirely new. 

As his consciousness grows, he feels a warm hand on his head, in his hair, combing through it as the singing continues. It is clearer now, but he can still not make out the exact words. It’s not english, he realises, it is not arabic either. It isn’t any language Damian knows, even if he does recognise some sounds and certain words. 

He tries to keep his breathing natural, he doesn’t want to interrupt Dick. It is.. nice. Comforting. 

The bedding he is laying on feels soft under him, and when he breathes through his nose it smells like a cave. The cave. He is safe, he is.. at home.

One of his hands are warmer than the other, engulfed by a much bigger one. Normally he would be embarrassed. Not only is Grayson singing, petting his hair, but he is also holding his hand like Damian is a small helpless child. Damian almost nudges his hand out of the bigger, more scarred one, out of pure reflex. He tries to stop himself from the motion so he wont interrupt Grayson. He must have moved anyway, because the singing stops as do the hand combing through his hair. Damn reflexes.

“Dami?” even when he is not singing, Graysons voice is more raw than usual. “Damian, I know you’re awake,” he continues, sounding more amused than before. 

Damian blinks his eyes open for the first time since the fog first started lifting. He had been right, he figures, as he stares up into the darkness that is the roof of the batcave. He is in the infirmary part, laying in one of the cots. 

He tries to prop himself up on his elbow, but winces when even through all the pain meds the movement sends flares up his arm and shoulder.

“Hey, relax, lay down again,” Grayson frets and Damian doesn’t have the power to disobey him. Grayson fiddles with the bed as Damian slumps down and tries to asses his own situation.

Arm is hurt, that much is obvious. A little movement, using his other hand to feel, confirms that it is in a small cast. Sliding his hand over his upper body also tells him that there is bandages over a large part of his chest and lower abdomen. 

Dick finally manages to move the bed into a more upright position, so that Damian can actually see more than the roof without having to move too much. His older brother then falls back into the chair he must have been sitting in all along. It's drawn as close to Damians bed as possible, with Grayson’s knees touching the bedside. It must be uncomfortable.

Grayson looks rather.. terrible. There is dark circles under his eyes, and his usually golden skin looks more greyish than brown. His hair resembles one of Alfred's dirty mops. Damian tells him so, never one to beat around the bush. 

Dick laughs, loudly, it echoes in the cave. That too is a nice sound. Damian waits for him to calm down. Dick wipes a tear from the corner of his left eye and Damian pretends not to notice it.

“So how long am I benched?” Damian asks when the silence becomes too much. 

Dick snorts, “You’ll have to take that up with Bruce. I am not touching that with a ten foot pole,” he says yet there is no malice in his face nor voice. Grayson shoots him a small smile, joined by calculating eyes. Probably trying to see how much pain Damian is in, now that he has awoken. Ever the over-protective big brother. 

Silence falls over them again. Much too soon, Damian’s eyes feels heavy again. He wonders if Dick did do more than try to rearrange the bed when he fumbled around earlier. Could he have given him more for the pain? The dosage is probably adjustable with a few swift clicks, and there is an IV in his uninjured arm. Damian doesn't have it in him to voice his irritation for being coddled. He can't be bothered to be angry about not being trusted to voice when he needs more meds. 

He’s tired, but he just woke up. He wants to talk to Dick, wants to know what happened. He is curious as to why he’s in this bed in the infirmary with Dick clinging to his hand. If Damian is right judging by the state of Dick, and the multitude of empty cups on the nearby table, he’s been out for quite long. Still he shouldn’t be this weak. He shouldn’t be lacking important memories, it is beneath him. 

“It’s okay kiddo, sleep some more,“ Dick, always the mind reader when it comes to his brothers, reassures. Then he moves to fix the bed to put Damian horizontal again. Damian know he can’t force the darkness away now, can’t stop his eyes from dropping closed. He lets the warm blanket of nothingness wash over him again like an old friend.

“It was nice,” Damian says, his eyes half open, already falling asleep. 

“What was?” Dick sounds confused. Damian is staring up at the cave-roof again through his eyelashes, his eyes are almost completely closed. He blinks, this time he doesn’t have to power to force his eyes open again.

“The song,” he can hear how is own words sounds groggy and slurred. He can’t hear Graysons answer, if there even is one. 

He doesn’t know if it’s his imagination or not, but it sounds like the song from earlier once again fills the cave and his ears. He can feel Richard’s hand once again engulf his own smaller one as he is lulled to sleep. He is home, Richard is by his side. Everything will be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for taking the time and reading this!
> 
> the reason damian recognises some sounds/words of the song is because he has a pretty good knowledge of languages, and many languages from the same areas are related so they share many sounds or have words that are pretty much the same


	5. Day Six/April 13th: Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memory Damian thought was long forgotten emerges, of a time when everything was alright and he still had Grayson with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set before Dick comes back from being undercover, but after Damian came back from the dead. (I haven't read these particular comics, so sorry if ive messed something of canon up.)

The sun is shining harsh and unrelentless on his face as he steps out on the patio. There is not a cloud to be seen, the Gotham sky looks almost an unnatural blue colour. The air, even as far from the city as the manor is, is never usually something that can be categorised as clean and fresh. Yet those are the words that comes to Damian’s mind as he walks towards the old wooden swing.

The swing is hanging from a thick branch on an old tree. It's one of those threes that have big roots and seems too have been standing there forever. Damian recalls seeing it in one of the old, very odd, family pictures that his father for some reasons insists to keep up in the manors halls. A cluster of Waynes in nice old-fashioned clothes, with somber expressions, all staring into the camera. His forefathers, which he's never felt connected too even as he walks their halls and eats at their dining table, all had the same jet-black hair and serious eyebrows.

The swing is one of the only signs that a child having has ever lived at the manor, at least if looked on from the outside.

The old wood creeks as Damian sits down on it. Bits of the old white rope that connects it to the tree falls off and sticks to his hand as he brushes over it to get a better grip.

Even if the swing is rarely used, there is a dented pitch of brown under it where the ground has been worn from countless children’s feet hitting it. It rained yesterday, and the brown mud has yet to completely dry. Some of it covers the tip of his red sneakers as he dips his foot down in it.

He slowly tests if the swing will hold him as he moves back and forth.

A memory he thought was long forgotten emerges.

Richard was the first one who had invited him to use the old swing. It had been a day not much different from today. The sky had cleared after a few days of heavy rain. They had both been tired and on edge after days of coming home from tense patrols, drenched to the bone.

He and Grayson were back then still new to the whole partner thing. Damian had not been in Gotham for too long, and was still heavily influenced by his upbringing in the League. It did not help that Richard, even if he tried to hide it, was both uncomfortable and insecure under the heavy cowl of the Bat. Damian had not been merciless in his critique of his older brother. He too had been unsure and insecure himself. He hadn't known any other method of reaching out to Grayson, besides with cruel words and too honest observations.

“Why are you dragging me here?” Damian remembers saying, most to fill the silence and to make sure Grayson knew his discomfort. Richard had interrupted him while he had been cleaning his katana, making sure the blade was sharp enough.

“Come on, it’s a beautiful day! We can’t sit here, stuck inside this dark cave all day,” Richard had exclaimed and Damian had known, even then, that arguing was a lost cause. He had huffed and scowled, but still followed Grayson up the stairs.

It had, in fact, been a beautiful day. Damian of course, had refused to admit that to Grayson.

The older had lead him through the mansion, out the glass door and towards the swing.

“No way, Grayson, we are not children in need of play,” he had said the moment he laid eyes on the swing.

“Come on, Dami-” the stupid nickname had earned Richard a scoff from him but the older continued nonetheless, “- all Wayne’s have used this swing. Used it to proved their amazing skills, flown higher than anyone before them!” Dick had exclaimed, throwing his arm out in a big movement as if that would make his point better. He had been walking backwards, his face towards Damian and his back towards the swing.

“I highly doubt ALL Wayne’s could’ve have swung from this unsturdy piece of wood. I refused to believe it’s that old, the Wayne-line goes very far back,” Damian had said, kicking the ground. Dick had frozen in his movement, his suntanned arms falling back to rest at his sides.

There had been a small silence.

“Your father did,” Richard had said. Something odd with his voice, something that Damian couldn’t decipher at that point. Grief, Damian had realised much later, when he had learned to read the older man better. Grief, with a hint of bitterness.

“Well, I guess I will have to prove myself, if only to show myself superior,” Damian had said. He had then made his way over to stand under the branch. Then and there he wasn’t sure why he had indulged Grayson. Maybe it was to put a stop to the awful silence. Later he recognised it as one of the first steps of what would be their strong partnership. Their brotherhood.

He had plopped down, and kicked his feet at the ground. Damian remembered the feeling of embarrassment when the swing barely moved, besides swinging a little to the side. The whole thing felt clumsy and odd. Embarrassment was something Damian was quite familiar with at the time, as he still was completely new to so much others deemed normal. It was just another feeling he masked in anger and cockiness.

“There is something wrong with this machine,” Damian had uttered. He had refused to meet Richard’s eyes.

“Damian, have you never used a swing like this before?” Richard had asked, his whole body screaming caution. He had been afraid of Damian’s reaction. Damian hadn’t answered. The silence had said enough.

Richard didn’t comment anything else. He didn’t push or pull or force Damian to admit to not knowing, he had only started moving. Damian had figured it was to leave, and had felt disappointed. Not that he would admit that to anyone, even now. His thoughts were telling him that Grayson had realised it wasn’t worth his time to teach a broken pre-teen how to use something as mundane as a swing.

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Richard had surprised him.

A quite embarrassing sound had left his mouth, sounding much like a surprised yelp, as strong hands pushed at his back. He swung upwards, then back. His feet swinging with the momentum.

Another push.

He was flying. His stomach was swirling, and even if he tried he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. Richard had been laughing.

The sun had been shining, and felt warm in his face. Damian had left himself close his eyes and live in the moment for a few seconds. He had basked in the feeling of being safe.

Now Damian uses his feet, back and forth, and gains speed as he swings. There is no one to push him. He is much bigger, he has done this before, he does not require any help. He gets higher than before, without anyone helping him. Not father nor Alfred would be adequate to perform the task anyway. It had always been their thing, his and Richards.

Not anymore.

For a few seconds he can see over the white fence, squaring in a small part of the big Wayne manor garden. He continues gaining speed, seeing even more of the closed in area.

He can see the stones from as the top of his swing. The grey row, with flowers some more beautiful than others in front of them. Some stones old, weathered down by the years. Others, more new with words that hurt more than the others.

Richard was never supposed to be captured in a space like that. He would feel like it was too small, and with too little room to move. Not that he could move anymore. Or even care. Grayson was never supposed to be so still, six feet underground in a wooden casket.

Damian stops his movements. Holds onto the ropes as his speed slows down again, not swinging back and forth as fast as before. His feet hits the ground more, and it makes stutters in his movement. The mud covers even more of his shoes, Alfred will in no doubt greet him with a sigh when he reenters the manor.

As he comes to a stop, blinking furiously away something that is not tears, he realises it has gotten darker. As he steps out from the shadow of the tree, he sees that the sky has in fact greyed again. The sun seems to only have been allowed to shine for that small amount of time.

The air seems heavy again, familiar, like it has been the last weeks since he came back home. Much like the air that has filled the halls of the manor in his absence. Something dark that has been looming over him since he first heard of what had become of Grayson.

The sky now matches his current emotions. It will in no doubt start to rain soon, if not today then tomorrow. It will be harsh and careless, in that way only Gotham weather manages to be.

Good, Damian thinks as he kicks the wood on the swing. It breaks in two, not surprisingly, as it’s been there for so long no doubt worn down over time by use and by weather. The pieces of wood fall to the ground, into the brown patch. The ropes now hangs pointlessly in the air, rundown and slack.

As the first rain drop falls, Damian turns his back to the swing and the gravestones looming behind the fence. He marches back to the manor, not taking his watering eyes of the glass door. His katana is in need of a sharpening after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	6. Day Seven/April 14th - Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian continues watching over Grayson, err, "Ric."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i absolutely hate ric, mostly because of how much the writers are skimping on the angst/whump material they could be bringing out, but still im here writing fic about him :-) go figure

Damian squints at the man walking down the street, far below. The rooftop is steady and safe under his feet, even as the rain works hard to make everything wet and slippery. He can feel the unforgiving water try to make it through the thick kevlar, slithering down his cape. For not the first time today he is thankful for the hood incorporated into his robin costume.

The man has yet to round the corner, walking slow and carefree. More carefree than Damian would approve as safe in this corner of Blüdhaven, in any corner of Blüdhaven to be honest. The city is suffering more than ever. Especially without its favourite vigilante fighting the never ending pour of crime. The street-criminals have slowly but surely started to realise the black and blue is actually gone. Not that they know that it doesn't look like said vigilante will be coming back, at least not in his original form, any time soon. The criminals are still taking their chances, not ones to lay on the soft side.

The family have tried to hold Nightwin'gs.. condition under the radar. It's working better than anyone had expected. 

The man on the street, former Nightwing, Dick Grayson, his brother, finally rounds the corner. Damian rises from where he has been perched in a crouching position until now. Father will be awaiting him at home soon, in not long they are supposed to be patrolling the streets of Gotham. As the world have yet to stop spinning, the crime in Gotham continues as always. It seems the need for Batman and his Robin will never be satisfied. 

And yet, Damian starts making his way to another rooftop. Grayson must be on his way home, having spent most of his afternoon, now evening, in that ridiculous bar. His apartment is only one turn to the right in the street coming up, and then two blocks down. 

Damian still has some time to spare to make sure his brother does not stumble into anything over his head in his current state. That state being completely amnesiac and a little bit intoxicated. Something which seems to be the ordinary nowadays, which is more than a little worrying. 

Before, Grayson never used to drink. Not even beer, at least not in front of Damian. He knows that of course, Grayson must have enjoyed his fair share of alcohol at least once or twice (at least if he is to trust Jason). But as long as Damian has known Grayson he has never seen the man partake in drinking, not in any excessive way.

“I don’t need alcohol to have fun, Dami. Plus, don’t wanna ruin all this hard work,” Grayson had once said when Damian had questioned him on the matter at a gala. His brother had then proceeded to flex his muscles in a stupid manner while shooting Damian one of his big sunshine smiles. Tim and Jason had already been 3 drinks down. Grayson’s fond smile as Tim and Jason laughed together, a somewhat rare occasion, was like etched into Damians memory now. Not much later they had escaped the gala, their intoxicated idiot brothers in tow, to eat popcorn and watch movies. They had only been followed by a somewhat angry, but relieved, glare from their father. He was probably happy they took Tim and Jason out of his hands, as they were getting more and more drunk. 

Damian doesn’t know if Grayson actually abstained from drinking, or if he pretended to do so for Damians sake. He wouldn't put it past his older brother. He always did hold himself to a ridiculous high standard, even for a bat. 

Now though, after that particular awful night, things are different. 

Grayson drinks. He doesn't have a stupid tough training routine to keep up with. Grayson’s body has already lost some of the hard earned muscles. It has left the young man looking more too thin than fit and healthy. Damian thinks Dick, Ric, is resembling Drake, at his most stressed out times, a little too much. Ric doesn't care what his three little brothers thinks of him. He doesn't remember those high standards anymore. 

Hell, Damian doubts this new Grayson even actually believes that he used to see Tim, Jason and himself as his little brothers. Tim and Jason, Damian could understand being suspicious about. They are grown adults, somewhat unworthy of all the care Grayson so willingly used to subject them to. 

But him? Damian used to think he and Grayson were forever, a constant, that they transcended anything life threw at them.

Damian used to be naive. 

Grayson had at many points been the most stable and supporting adult in his life. More so than Damians very own father, after he came from being assumed dead, and not from the the lack of trying. Bruce did try, he really did, but Grayson.. their bond, it was special. And Bruce was.. well, Bruce. His father always did have a hard time with change.

Those months he and Grayson had as Batman and Robin, they were special. Even if it was a time filled with hardship and sorrow, it’s become one of the most special and treasured times in Damian’s life. 

He lets the memories wash over him as he jumps and grapples his way to another rooftop. It gives him the best outlook of the street Grayson’s apartment complex is sat in.

His older brother has yet to enter the particular street. Damian tries to ignore the growing pit of worry in his stomach. Grayson, as changed as he is, is still capable of taking care of himself, he reminds himself. He has proven that before. The acrobatics and fighting is still ingrained him in. His muscles seem to remember even if his minds does not. Yet Damian can not stop himself from worrying. This Grayson does not know of all the evil out there, all the evil he once faced on an almost daily basis.

The rain is still pouring down, and Damian longs for a hot shower. He won't get the chance before after patrol, and that is hours away. 

Grayson finally rounds the corner, crossing the street with a little jog to get to his front door. He is too far away for Damian to properly see his face, especially hidden under the hood of a drenched hoodie. Yet, Damian can see locks of black hair sticking to his forehead because of the rain. At least there is something of what used to be his brother returning. 

The buzzcut was not one of Damians favourite looks for his brother. It joins a long list of other bad decisions made by Grayson concerning fashion. Not that Richard had any say in the matter when they buzzed half his head as in the OR to see the gunshot wound. Alfred had buzzed the remaining half, afterwards. Not long after Grayson woke up and asked them who the hell they all were. 

Damian wonders if the rest, if the most important parts, will ever follow the hair. Grayson is okay physically, but.. how much does that matter? Are you any different from a robot if you’re just an empty shell walking around? 

Damian is thankful that his brother is alive, but sometimes.. Sometimes in the darkest hour of the night when nightmares are tormenting him and he cant sleep he wonders. Would it be better if Richard had died that night? If the bullet had, instead of stealing his older brothers memories, stolen his life? Would it be better if instead of walking around, completely different and a disgrace compared to what he once was, Grayson was actually gone? 

Damian knows for sure that Grayson isn’t happy like this, sees it in how his face falls and his shoulders slump. 

Damian tries to tell himself these thoughts are coming from how much the situation has hurt his family. A place of empathy. That is it coming from how much it is hurting Grayson’s friends. People who in a many ways has wiggled their way into Damians life too. 

Damian knows it is a lie. He knows that those thoughts are only coming from his own selfishness. His own need, his own greed. How can Grayson walk around, looking completely fine, while Damian is hurting every day? How can he act so nonchalant, while Damian is itching with the need to call a brother who no longer exist? How is that fair? 

Grayson disappears in the wooden door at the same time as Damians com unit crackles to life.

“Robin, it is time to return to the cave for patrol,” Batmans, not father’s, voice crackles through. It is not a statement, it is an order.

“Leaving now,” Damian responds, with a light press to the piece in his ear. There is no answer from the other side, not that he expected one. He takes on last look at the apartment-building. Grayson's window is now yellowed in light, he can see a shadow moving around inside. 

Damian grabs his grapple gun and starts swinging to where he parked his bike on arrival. It is time for patrol like father said, after all. Crime never sleeps. 

The empty shell of what once was his brother is not going anywhere anyway, he can return later. Maybe Damian have to start accepting that their separation may be permanent, as much as his heart is hurting because of it. Grayson, Ric - an awful choice of name really, seems to have already made up his mind.

Yet the world continues spinning for another night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr letgraysonsheart.tumblr.com if you wanna come yell with me about batfam :-) I really appreciate kudos & comments!


End file.
